


Every time you call me 'ser'

by ChocoNut



Series: Many ways to say I love you [65]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diverges in 8x4, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Mild Smut, Missing Scene, Morning after TBTWP, Season 8, So many kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Jaime penalizes Brienne for calling him 'ser'
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Many ways to say I love you [65]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1234904
Comments: 18
Kudos: 149





	Every time you call me 'ser'

**Author's Note:**

> More fluff. Hope you like it.

A new day, it was, when she opened her eyes, everything about it, the same as always, except for the man in her bed. 

His arms around her had been her clothes last night, his body pressed to hers, the comforting furs that warmed her. A maiden, she was no more, that, of all the changes her life had undergone, churning up mixed emotions within her.

Unaccustomed to waking up next to someone, she remained still as his heart rhythmically thumped away under her cheek, worried that even the slightest movement might stir him out of his slumber. Now that the effects of the wine had worn off, she became more aware of her nakedness, the sight of the flaws on her far-from-attractive body filling her with dread as she waited with trepidation for him to open his eyes and see her properly. Drunk, he’d found her beautiful. He’d even told her so. But what would his sober mind think of her? 

Unsure of how to react to the man who had been hers for a night, she lay there, waiting out her anxiety. 

_Is he really mine, though,_ she wondered, the thought, a question she’d never asked him last night beginning to nudge her from within. It was a promise he had never made her. Not yet, at least.

“What bothers you, my lady?” His softly seductive voice ensnared her senses, returning her to the cloud she’d been floating on for a good many hours. 

She tilted her head upwards to meet his eyes. “Ser Jaime--”

Before she could proceed with her question, he answered with his mouth on hers. Taken aback for a second, she went with the flow, meeting him with passion, delighted to be distracted, not minding at all that his unexpected show of desire interrupted her train of thought. She moved her lips against his, wanting more of the kiss, more than just a kiss. And as if sensing her need, he pulled her closer, tightening his grasp around her waist, their bodies, once more, intimately conjoined. His rough chest rubbed against the sore skin of her breasts, reddening the scratches he’d inflicted on them, punishing her even more than he’d done last night, the sweet burning sensation he left her with rushing straight down to her rapidly moistening core. Her tortured nipples were taut and once again ready for his mouth, the obscene noises her throat made, not hers to be controlled when his firm muscles pushed ruthlessly into them.

Lost in his kiss and with all her defenses down, she could only surrender when he flipped her to her back and covered her with himself.

“What was that supposed to be for?” she asked when she was in a state to talk again, when he made a halfhearted attempt to pull back, their lips still touching, though not exactly in a kiss.

He moved his hips, his erection pushing tantalizingly into her thighs, ready to serve her another round of the stormy experience she’d had. “You called me _ser_.”

Her lovesick mind was unable to make an appropriation connection. “So? What does that have to do with the kiss?”

“Isn’t it time you stopped using my title?” he complained, the tip of his nose touching hers. “At least when we're alone.”

“I want to,” she admitted, “but getting rid of years of habit takes time, Ser--”

Claiming her mouth again, he refused to let her speak, his kisses, this time, just as hungry and furious as earlier. They snuggled closer with their mouths moulded together as one.

“Every time you use the word _ser_ , I’m going to kiss you, wench.” He snaked his finger down her throat to meet the curve of her breasts, his cock twitching wildly against her leg when he circled the edge of her nipple. “Correct yourself or pay the price. You decide.” 

“This is unfair,” she moaned, trembling every time his errant finger moved, his mischievous ploy and lustful tone making her want to repeatedly invite the penalty he’d announced. 

“Call me by my name then,” he insisted, palming her breast. “Call me _Jaime_.”

“If you say so, Ser Ja--”

Again she’d made the same mistake, and again, he punished her for her lapse, the sweet torture her mouth had been enduring for hours getting hotter and unbearable. Her questions forgotten, she wanted to forget Sansa and the Starks and everyone else for just today. She wanted to cast away from her mind the great war and the scars it had left behind. She wanted his mouth to quench her thirst and his body to warm her from within.

He may not be hers forever, but just for this one magical day, she wanted to keep him to herself.

“The next time you address me as _ser_ ,” he said, panting, “I'm not going to stop with just a kiss. You’re going to do whatever I ask of you.”

“You have my word, S--” she checked herself on time “--Jaime.”

“Do not make promises you might not want to keep, my lady,” he warned, his cock-head teasing her entrance.

One sudden jerk and he penetrated her soaking wet folds, taking her by surprise. She gasped, unprepared for this onslaught, taking a moment to take him in, but he gave her no chance to react, no time to adjust, ramming into her and jolting her hips, completely sheathing himself within her. “I--” she started to say something, but when he pulled back and entered her again, she closed her eyes with a laboured sigh, escaping to a realm she’d never want to return from. “ _Anything_ ,” she whispered, her chest arching into his, her hips rising to meet his thrusts, her thighs slapping against his. “Anything, Ser Jaime,” she cried, his merciless cock and the treatment it was meting out to her the only thing in her head.

“Your loss is my gain, Brienne.” He swooped down to devour her mouth, and with another furious plunge, took her apart with a climax that left her reeling, thirsting for more. 

Spent, she sank back into the bed, but he kept going, his vigour, his drive, no less than last night. He drew a shuddering breath, filling her with his seed, his satiated groan and the way he looked at her with half-lidded eyes like she was the most beautiful creature in this world, dispelling all her doubts that their first time was nothing more than a drunken surrender to passion. This time, it had been so much more than sex. It had gone far beyond mere physical intimacy. She was scared he’d turn into an addiction. She was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep away from him. That he had become a need so vital that she’d find it difficult to sustain without him was a realization that alarmed her. 

“I yield,” she said in a tired, resigned whisper, her body recovering from the storm they had been through. “Have it your way.”

“Promise me something then,” he said, his hand riding up to stroke her cheek. “And do not turn down my plea, Lady Brienne.” 

“When have I ever gone back on my word?” Content with everything the gods had just blessed her with, she was ready to grant him whatever he asked of her, to lay down her life for him, even, if need be. “What do you want me to do, Jaime?”

“I’ve been thinking all these days,” he wondered aloud, his lips brushing against hers, “about what it might be like to marry a knight.”

“Really?” she teased in a tone of disbelief, a wave of joy rising up her chest at his terrible attempt at a proposal.

He pouted, pretending to be offended, twisting his forefinger in a lock of her hair. “You think I’m lying?”

“I know you are,” she said, playfully ruffling his soft mane. “No man in his right senses would want to marry a knight, unless--”

He stopped her with another kiss. “--she’s _you,_ ” he finished her sentence, then added with a roguish smile, “You made me a promise, my lady. You’re going to have to keep it.”

“When did I ever say I won’t?” she said, and his face lit up, making him look ten years younger.

Sliding off her, he lay down beside her. “Godswood or Sept?” 

“Either,” she replied, too preoccupied with her impending future to worry about rituals.

“Old gods or new?” he rephrased his question, propped up against his pillow.

She turned to face him. “Does it really matter?”

“It doesn’t,” he agreed, leaning to meet her lips again. “I am yours, my lady knight,” he recited the words she’d never imagined anyone would say to her, “and you are mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” she said the rest, sealing the bond between them. Unable to stay away from him for long, she wriggled into the warmth of his arms, letting him have his way with her mouth again. 

Sept or Godswood, old gods or new, it made no difference. He was hers and she was his. That was the only thing that mattered.

  
  



End file.
